


in the morning's hush

by nightswatch



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Fluff, M/M, The Raven King Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 03:38:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6736570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An assortment of early mornings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the morning's hush

**Author's Note:**

> This is set sometime before the Raven King's epilogue, which is why I tagged for spoilers.

There’s something about early mornings. Possibly it’s the light, slowly creeping across the floor, littered with clothes, carelessly discarded, with schoolwork, wilfully ignored, curious objects, skilfully pulled out of dreams, then casually dropped in favor of more pressing endeavours. Possibly it’s the stillness that covers the Barns like a blanket, even when Chainsaw flaps her wings and plays with mostly empty bags of chips and tries to get into pizza cartons.

Possibly it’s Ronan, when the light reaches his bed, wanders up his bare legs, sticking out from under the covers, up to his tattoo. The early morning light that somehow makes him look much softer and much harsher all at the same time. Maybe it’s the way Ronan scrunches up his nose, only for a fleeting moment, when the light finally reaches his face. Or it’s the stillness there is to him only in moments such as this one, when there are no dreams to shake him awake. 

He was dreaming earlier. 

See, Adam isn’t awake just because he likes the way Ronan’s eyelashes look in the early morning light. He does. But he’d be lying if he said that he wouldn’t also enjoy a good night’s sleep. Adam still dreams of whispering forests and the smell of moss that sometimes haunts him even after he wakes up, but it takes mere moments to shake it all off. 

Often, when Ronan dreams, he carries it all to the surface. And even more often, he fights to keep his nightmares inside, tosses and turns, and occasionally Adam wakes up with an elbow jerking into his ribs. He would like to say that it doesn’t bother him - many times it doesn’t - but some things are easier to shake off than others. 

Adam would also like to say that he can deal with it. All it takes is a look around to remind himself that he’s at the Barns, the rustle of Chainsaw’s feathers, Ronan’s breathing, slowly evening out again beside him, the mess on the floor, Ronan, turning over, the nightmare already over, the sharp edges and lines of his tattoo so palpable, Adam’s fingers, carefully tracing the lines before they come to a rest on Ronan’s shoulder blade. All it takes is the warmth of Ronan’s skin to remind him that he’s not back _there_. 

Possibly it’s the way in which Ronan’s eyelids flutter when he wakes, his eyes finding Adam’s.

There’s a softness there before he says, “What’re you looking at?”

Adam decides that it’s too early for this, whatever _this_ is, exactly, and wraps an arm around Ronan. They don’t have to get up for a while and even though Adam has no illusions and knows that his arm won’t keep Ronan in place forever, it usually does the trick at least for a little while. 

“Parrish.”

“Hm?”

“Never mind,” Ronan says and pulls his feet back under the covers. They’re ice cold when they bump against Adam’s. Ronan, his eyes closed again, smirks. 

*

There’s something about being woken up by church bells. There’s something about ending up pressed against a cold wall in the course of the night. There’s something about waking up with Ronan Lynch’s head tucked under your chin. The latter makes even the cold wall against Adam’s back a little more bearable, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t scoot away from the wall and even closer to Ronan. 

Ronan shifts in his arms. The church bells fall silent and Ronan stills. It was a quiet night, preceded by an evening of gentle touches and whispered oaths. 

Adam doesn't know why he’s so sure that Ronan hadn’t meant to stay, but that doesn’t change that he’s still here. They’ll have to get up for school in about an hour. Maybe that’s why Ronan didn’t mean to stay.

“Your bed is my worst nightmare,” Ronan says a while later. He doesn’t sound like he’s been awake for longer than ten seconds. On second thought, there’s nothing Ronan wouldn’t insult ten seconds after he’s woken up.

Okay, so maybe he didn’t mean to stay because of the bed. Which is, admittedly, nowhere near big enough for the two of them. They don’t usually squeeze themselves into this bed when there are other options. There are always arms or legs dangling over the edge of the mattress, there’s never enough room to turn over without waking the other up, but Adam can’t say that he minds waking up with their limbs tangled. 

There’s no soft morning light in Adam’s room. It’s cold and drafty and Ronan is squirming and there’s nothing comfortable about this. 

Ronan makes a grumbling noise to voice his displeasure once again. 

“Why didn’t you leave, then?” Adam asks. He doesn’t mean to sound so gruff, but it’s still early. 

“Because you fell asleep on my arm.”

It’s hard to tell if it’s a lie. Ronan came by around eight, just when Adam had got back from work, completely exhausted and in desperate need of a shower. Ronan waited for him, lounging on his bed. Adam joined him later, kissed him, like he’d wanted to all day. It still feels like a surprise sometimes that he can do this, no fuss, no awkwardness. It’s the way they are now and Adam so likes the way they are. 

“And you couldn’t pull your arm out from under my head?”

“No, Parrish, I couldn’t get it out from under your massive head, otherwise I wouldn’t still be here.” Ronan’s hand wanders down his spine, dipping lower, stilling at the small of his back. “There’s at least an inch between you and that wall, no wonder my ass is hanging out on the other side of the bed.”

Adam props himself up and rolls on top of Ronan, which silences him effectively. Adam is really getting the hang of this. Anyway, there’s something about having Ronan lying underneath him with parted lips and barely concealed anticipation. 

It’s still new, but he shouldn’t be surprised that he’s allowed to do this either. 

*

There’s something about- No. Not today. There’s nothing good to be found in waking up with a pounding headache and a sore throat. 

The telltale morning light that seeps into Ronan’s room at the Barns hasn’t even made it halfway across the floor. Adam isn’t sure what it was that woke him up. Sometimes Opal makes a ruckus down in the kitchen, dishes clattering and chairs scraping, but today everything is eerily quiet. 

Ronan is fast asleep, perfectly still, the covers pushed away. Adam pulls them up again, more for his own benefit than for Ronan’s. He screws his eyes shut, hoping he’ll fall asleep, hoping he won’t feel like death warmed over when he wakes up again. 

Things don’t go his way. He doesn’t really sleep, it’s an in-between-thing, the headache keeping him on the edge of consciousness, and his eyes fly open when Ronan wakes up with a start. 

“You’re not watching me sleep again, are you?” Ronan asks after a moment.

Adam only groans and even that comes out strangely croaky. He hides his face in a pillow. His alarm hasn’t rung yet, but it will soon enough and he’ll have to get up and go to work and somehow make it through this day. When he gets home he can sleep. All night and all day tomorrow if he has to. Ronan might drop by after mass, but that is something for tomorrow’s Adam to deal with.

“What?” Ronan asks. 

The mattress shakes. Adam can almost feel Ronan looming over him. He wants to tell him that he’s fine, but he can’t bring himself to open his mouth right now. He feels nauseous. 

Fingers run through his hair. “Adam.”

It’s not a request but a demand for him to say something. 

“ _Adam_.”

Adam starts to sit up - bad mistake - and Ronan sits back, eyes narrowed.

“You look like shit.” Ronan’s hand gives a twitch, almost like he wants to reach out. If Ronan were to even just make an attempt at feeling his forehead, Adam might never be able to look at him again. 

Adam coughs in reply. 

“Shit,” Ronan says. 

It occurs to Adam then that Ronan most likely doesn’t know what to do with a sick person. He won’t have to deal with him for much longer anyway. “I’m fine,” Adam says and it’s accompanied by a coughing fit that very clearly spells out, “And I’m also a liar,” in a dozen different languages.

He moves to get up anyway, since he’ll have to get it over with at some point. Adam doesn’t expect for Ronan to catch him by the wrist. “You’re calling in sick.”

There’s room for debate here. The problem is that Adam is still feeling rather ambivalent about opening his mouth for prolonged periods of time, which would be inevitable in the event of a debate. Adam glares. Ronan glares back and he’s the winner in this from the start, because Ronan has studied glaring and Adam doesn’t really have enough energy to keep this up for much longer. 

The early morning light has nearly reached the bed now. Adam allows Ronan to push him back down, to pull the sheets back around them, to scoot back against him. He wants to tell Ronan that he’s going to get sick, too. But Ronan has proven resistant to good advice in the past, so chances are that the same thing applies to the flu. 

Ronan kisses his forehead, no fuss, no awkwardness. There’s nothing positive to be found in missing a day of work. But, well, there _is_ something about Ronan.

*

There’s something about being woken up by Ronan’s wandering hands. There’s something about a not-so-early morning at Monmouth. It’s not the same kind of stillness he knows from the Barns. In a way, it’s not stillness at all. He can hear Gansey and Blue talking, laughing. 

It’s nothing he concerns himself with for long, because Ronan’s wandering hands demand his full attention. A lot can be said about the things that Ronan Lynch can do with those hands. 

Ronan complains about Adam’s shirt, but it’s the only thing he’ll get to say for a while. Adam’s fingers curl around the back of Ronan’s neck to pull him in and before he can kiss him, Ronan sneaks a quick kiss onto the palm of his hand. No, there’s no stillness, not here, not now. 

There’s impatience between them when their lips finally meet and Ronan’s hand still hasn’t figured out the issue it obviously has with Adam’s shirt. Ronan bites at Adam’s bottom lip and it’s not exactly helping with getting the shirt off. If anything, it’s counter-productive.

It’s how things are between them now. It’s kisses that melt into each other, it’s hands moving with purpose, it’s quiet gasps. It’s fingers tugging at shirts and Ronan’s mouth on Adam’s skin. A lot can be said about the things that Ronan Lynch can do with that mouth.

A pillow slides off Ronan’s bed in the aftermath of another unsuccessful attempt at getting Adam out of his shirt and joins whatever else is lying on the floor. Adam isn’t sure if Ronan even notices. 

The shirt joins the pillow a mere moment later and there is something triumphant in Ronan’s eyes. A book, previously sitting at the end of the bed, undisturbed all night, lands on the floor with a loud thunk. The sheets go next. 

Ronan is busying himself with what’s left of Adam’s and his own clothes when the door opens. Again, Adam isn’t sure if Ronan even notices. Not at first anyway. 

Gansey blinks at them, Adam blinks back at him. Ronan looks like he very much wants to hurl the only remaining pillow on the bed at Gansey. 

He seems to change his mind and asks, testily, “Can we help you?”

Gansey clears his throat. “I just heard… I’m so sorry for interrupting. Adam, I wasn’t aware you were here.”

“Told you he wasn’t getting murdered,” Blue shouts. 

“I didn’t think you were getting murdered,” Gansey says. Whatever it is that he thought, Adam can’t blame him for checking. There’s something about Ronan and nightmares that sometimes won’t let Gansey sleep at night. “Carry on.”

The door falls shut with a click.

Ronan curses under his breath and drapes himself across Adam with a huff. All the urgency from before has faded. Now Ronan’s breath tickles Adam’s skin and his fingers wander along his sides before they catch Adam’s.

There’s something about the feeling of Ronan’s lips brushing against his palm, about the feeling of Ronan’s thumb skimming across his knuckles. There is something about holding Ronan’s hand. 

Adam closes his eyes. There _is_ stillness, albeit hidden in moments such as this one, even at Monmouth. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for this fandom and it's always nerve-wracking to post something in a new fandom, so it'd be lovely if you left a comment.


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